have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
by blainedarling
Summary: Kittenboy has been chasing him for months. He just doesn't know why the Joker is so desperate to get caught.


His feet padded lightly across the concrete of the rooftop as he ran, the breeze picking up the edge of his cape. He looked into the distance, sure that he could see the distinct, striking green and purple colours that he was searching for. _The Joker. _He shook the thought away momentarily, refocusing on the ledge that he was coming to.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

_Ten foot gap._

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

_Sixty foot drop._

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

He dropped smoothly down onto the other side, a small smile spreading across his face. As much as he knew every time he took a jump that he'd make it safely to the other side, there was still a certain sense of accomplishment to be had from every one.

"Look who it is."

A sharp voice drew him from his thoughts as he looked up into the eyes of the man he'd been chasing down that evening. His eyes took in the deep purple of his suit, the sickening green paint in his hair. His skin was thick with the white face paint, causing him to almost glow in the dim evening light. His piercing green eyes fixed onto his own as his mouth twisted into a sneer.

"Kittenboy."

* * *

Since that first night, the two of them had been playing their game of cat and mouse (or kitten and meerkat as Kurt, Blaine's best friend and the only one who knew of his nighttime adventures, liked to call it) for months. It was always the same. Blaine would track him down, distract him enough to allow whomever he was holding hostage that night to escape and then, when he'd turn, the Joker would once more have melted away.

"It doesn't make any sense," Blaine growled in frustration, throwing down the sheaf of papers that contained the few bits of information they'd managed to gather on him. "What does he _want_?"

Kurt hummed thoughtfully as he passed Blaine a cup of freshly made coffee. "It's got to be a long con, right?"

Blaine looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Kurt. He runs around at night with green spray paint in his hair. He's not a conman, he's a lunatic."

Kurt grinned innocently back at him. "Then, what does that make you?"

* * *

He walked forward into the warmly lit, top floor storage unit, slowly regaining control over his breathing from that night's sprint across the skyline of New York. It was a lamp in the corner that was casting the light across the floor, reflecting glaringly off the floor to ceiling window that stretched all the way across the outer wall. He could see as far as the Hudson river, the water black as ink in the night.

It was quiet. It was far too quiet. His own footsteps echoed slightly, which was unusual at best given the soft materials of his outfit. His breath hitched as he felt a warm pair of hands settle on his hips, his eyes fluttering closed involuntarily. With his nights being taken up in other ways, it had been a while since he'd felt someone else's hands on his body.

"That was far too easy," the man behind him murmured.

Blaine froze, stepping forward abruptly in recognition and twisting on his heel to face him.

"Will you dance with me?" the Joker asked, holding out his hand, his expression totally unreadable.

He didn't know why he said yes; not then at least. Maybe later he'd realise that he was making up for times long since past.

The taller man's hand sparked like fire against his own, even through the glove, their bodies warm against one another. The moon was streaming through the window into the space, lighting the floor with a sort of pale glow. There was no music, nor did either of them try to provide any themselves, content to sway together in silence, accompanied only by their own breathing. Their eyes were locked on one another's, as if a thousand things could be said through that act alone. Blaine stepped away, far sooner than either of them would have liked, his gaze still fixed on the other man.

His voice dropped, the corner of his mouth turned down slightly. He looked pensive, even sad, almost. "You really don't remember me, do you Blaine?"

Before he could reply, the Joker was crossing towards him, wrenching the ears from his head, the mask from his face and tossing them to the ground.

"I know who you are," he murmured, wiping at the remaining smudges of eyeliner on Blaine's low lids aggressively. "I've always known."

Blaine watched as he walked over to the window, staring out over the city as he carefully removed a silk handkerchief from his pocket.

"Of course you would have forgotten," he murmured as he begun to clean the white paint from his face in sharp, thick strokes. "I was never anything to you, Blaine. As much as I tried."

Blaine stepped closer, his breathing slowing as he watched a pattern of freckles be uncovered as he smeared the paint off his neck.

_Will you dance with me? he'd asked him that night. The last night they'd spoken._

_No. But thank you._

_Just one dance. You're here alone. He's gone. Why won't you dance with me?_

_He hadn't understood why he was so insistent. Blaine was used to the flirting and the innuendos, the accidental brush of his hand against his hip. But he was not used to the insistence. _

_I don't want to. _

_He'd looked so hurt. Never had Blaine seen him like that, not once. _

_You're my friend, Sebastian._

_And they'd never exchanged another word since. _

"Sebastian," Blaine breathed, stepping closer to the other man when he whirled around.

"Now you remember," he muttered bitterly, turning them so Blaine was pushed against the cool glass of the window.

"Is that why you became..._this_?"

Sebastian closed his eyes, one hand on Blaine's hip, the other on his shoulder, holding him firmly in place.

A soft smile spread across his face, his eyes still closed as he thought back on days long gone. "When I first came to New York and heard about the great Kittenboy, I knew right away it was you."

His eyes fluttered open, a mournful shade of green as he looked down at him. "I just wanted you to come and find me," he murmured.

Blaine pushed forward from the vice of Sebastian's hands, leaning up to press his lips firmly his, the taste of the remains of the paint bitter against his mouth. Sebastian strong arms looped around Blaine's waist, pulling his body flush against his own as they kissed slowly. Blaine pushed Sebastian's blazer off smoothly, before pulling away and throwing it over his own shoulders.

"I'm presuming you know where I live?" Blaine asked, one eyebrow quirked in amusement as he backed away one step at a time, a small grin on his face.

Sebastian's cheeks coloured a little but he nodded, shivering slightly in just the thin shirt he had underneath.

"Twenty minutes. Don't be late."

With that, Blaine scooped up his mask and ears from where they'd been discarded and flew from the room, the pattering of feet just audible in the distance. Sebastian took a deep breath, taking off after him. _Don't be late. _

* * *

"We have a problem," Blaine announced when he got in the front door, tossing his keys on the table in the hallway as he walked through, to find his husband splayed out on the couch, book propped up in front of his face.

"Hm?" Sebastian mumbled in reply, not looking up.

"We've been invited to a Halloween party tonight."

Sebastian looked up, putting his book down to fix his gaze on Blaine, his confusion clear. "Why is this a problem?"

Blaine sighed, flopping down into the arm chair next to the couch. "We don't have costumes and we don't have time to make any."

Sebastian hummed thoughtfully for a moment, a grin spreading across his face suddenly. Without a word, he walked into their bedroom, rootling around in the back of the closet. Past the summer clothes, past their old Dalton blazers, right to the back. He walked into the living room, one set of clothing in each hand. Five years to the day since they'd last worn them.

"Perhaps you could spare one more dance for the poor devil."


End file.
